Wake. Up.

TWENTY-SIX

My eyes snap open into undarkness. My pulse throbs in my ears; cold sweat prickles my face. I expect to find Farah shaking me awake, but, when I turn, I see that she’s sound asleep.

Her lips are slightly parted as she inhales and exhales, she looks calm, younger than she looks when she’s awake. Her eyelids flicker like she’s having a dream and I feel a rush of unexpected tenderness.

I imagine waking her. We would be alone, I think. I imagine her sharp intake of breath, her watchful look. I imagine that she might start to sit up, but if I put my arm around her and slide on to the sofa next to her, would she understand? I imagine her resting her head on my shoulder so that I can hold her. Half-formed feelings churn inside me, feelings that are exquisitely peaceful and feelings that are not so peaceful as well.

I wish for a moment that we were back in the ordinary world, that we could hang out like normal people. Perhaps I could tell her how I feel then. But it’s a futile dream, because we were never friends in the ordinary world and we never would be, let alone anything else.

I stand up, every creak of the leather sofa sounding like a tiny detonation that must surely wake the whole world. My heart races, my shoulders tremble.

He’ll find you and he’ll punish you.

I don’t know to what extent Ose, Tongue and Levi are prisoners like us. But they are culpable, they allow Jonah to keep on murdering people in order to save their own skin.

I don’t want to turn into them.

I don’t want to stand by and let Jonah murder anyone else in front of me.

You wouldn’t stand a chance.

We’ll see about that, I think.

What he does here, the killing, it makes him powerful. It attracts attention…

Whose attention? God’s? I think of the ancient Greeks riding into battle with their gods in tow. I think of the crusaders, with their cruciform swords and their symbols. Maybe God is drawn to bloodshed and horror in both worlds.

Fine, I think. Maybe if I bring the bloodshed he’ll side with me.

I smile in the darkness, amused by my own rushing thoughts.

The voice in my dream still rings in my ears. Wake. Up. Was it a sign? I snort bitterly under my breath. A lifetime of being an atheist and suddenly I think God is talking to me.

I approach the roll mats where Jonah, Ose, Tongue and Levi sleep. A neat row huddled together, side by side, like a Scout camp.

Jonah’s asleep. His lips are pressed tightly shut. His face is marked by age and anger, pockmarked and fleshy, a Martian landscape. The sense that his eyes might flick open at any moment.

Levi lies next to him, then Ose, then Tongue. Tongue’s T-shirt is still covered in uneven stains from the surgery Jonah administered two nights ago.

Enough thinking.

I hold the knife tightly against my chest, clutching it like some kind of amulet.

He’s ready, always.

I practise my attack with the tiny fruit knife, thinking through the angle I need, the way I’m going to spread my weight.

I need to not mess this up.

I imagine Jonah’s hand flashing up with impossible speed, twisting, snapping my arm…

I take a step.

Others must have tried and failed, I think. Why should I be any different?

I don’t know. But I have to try. Because if I don’t, then sooner or later Farah or Chiu will try and then their death will be on my hands too.

You’re important to him, Kyle. That’s the only thing keeping the three of you alive.

I step forward. It has to be fast.

What he does here, the killing, it makes him powerful.

I know Ose is right. I know it won’t work.

Just walk away.

But now a new idea comes. A flash of inspiration. It’s so quick and so clear, it feels as if it comes from somewhere outside. This time I don’t have to think. I act.

I dart forward, raise the knife…

And it’s done.

I stare at the dark handle of the knife in my hand and my hand pressed against the naked flesh of Tongue’s neck and the blade is gone because it’s deep, deep inside.

Tongue’s eyes flick wide open. His arm flashes up and grabs my wrist. I’m terrified he’s going to shout. But he just gives a slight, wheezy intake of breath.

I try to pull my hand back but Tongue holds me where I am, my hand pressed against his throat. “Tongue,” he says quietly, emphatically.

He looks at me with an extraordinary, profound, oddly familiar expression, his eyes shining in the undarkness with an amazing lustre. Then I feel the pressure of his hand, not pushing me away, but drawing me forward, ensuring that I finish.

I don’t dare look at Jonah. I walk, fast and silent, across the food court, back towards Farah and Chiu.

My body is rigid with fear. I shake Farah awake. She starts, sitting up quickly.

“We need to go,” I say. “Right now.”

I shake Chiu and press my finger to my lips to silence him. He and Farah clock the look on my face and don’t ask any questions.

Just go, I think. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just walk.

Out into the night and whatever waits for us out there.